Molly S and the Pebble of Death
by Quietly Bizarre
Summary: Molly Sauder is the US' Harry Potter. She has never heard of Bellascello, or anyone else most wizards shudder to speak of. She lives a mysteriously boring life-but that is about to change. Chapter by chapter literally I create a Harry Potter Spoof.


**Enjoy! I've had this idea for a while now, and typing has been going much easier than I'd anticipated, so, yeah. I've been writing quite a bit lately, and since ****FanFiction**** accepts Microsoft Works Word now, I'm going to be uploading a bunch of stories soon. Again: enjoy!**

For the Puddle's, something different was distinctly _not_ in the air. When he woke up, Mr. Puddle expected nothing but the usual shipment of nails that had been on backorder for his private company that he owned, and nothing more. Mrs. Puddle rose from bed to the usual caterwauls of her son, Puddley, whom was a chubby, whiny sort, that truly, only a mother could love.

"Oh, blast it," muttered Mr. Puddle, who was in the usual state of morning disarray, and therefore, in a rotten mood. "Why can't 'early' mean 10:30?"

"Darling, would you believe it? Puddle Cuddles just said a new word!" cried out Mrs. Puddle, as she attempted to spoon feed her sweet Puddle Cuddles.

"Oh really? And what might that be?" answered Mr. Puddle, not in the least intrigued.

"Won't! It's a much nicer word now that he can say it, right honey? Oh never mind, let me see where that last can of baby food went off to…"

"Just splendid darling," growled Mr. Puddle under his breath, most certainly not meaning it.

"Oh goodness, are you worried about the new shipment? Don't fret, dear, I'm sure it'll come in on time." Mrs. Puddle had returned from her search expedition for the baby food, and was proceeding to cram it into her son's mouth. "Eat up, my puddle duddle!" she sang happily, even though very little was going into her son's open and screaming mouth.

"Yes, dear," sighed Mr. Puddle as a spoonful of baby mush flew and splattered into his favorite -which was coincidently his most dreary- tie. "I know. Love you."

The couple kissed briefly, then Mr. Puddle dabbed a napkin to his tie, succeeding only in making a bigger stain. With an upward roll of the eyes, he waddled out the door and into the car, sighing with effort to sit up straight. As the plump man backed out of the drive, something caught his eye: a calico cat was reading a…sign?

'Nonsense, cats can't read," Mr. Puddle thought to himself. 'Of course they can't.' None the less, Vince turned around to watch the cat. The cat watched him. "Is this normal?" asked Vince to himself as he drove cautiously down the road. He had no idea what cats normally did, because the closest thing to an animal in the house had been his son, Puddley.

As he became stuck in the usual traffic build-up, Mr. Puddle's thoughts began to drift. First, to his wife, Priscilla and his son, Puddley, then off towards the distant direction of work, and then to the strange cat he had seen just a few minutes earlier. What really irked him about this cat was the way it had looked at him. It was weird, as if the cat was saying, "I know who you are, and you cannot hide from me." If Mr. Puddle wasn't lacking quite so many brains, then he might have been truly troubled by this. But as he was, Mr. Puddle decided to put it out of his mind and not let it bother him any longer.

Once at work, Mr. Puddle parked in the usual slot and trundled up the flight of stairs to his office. The following four hours passed smoothly and without conflict, but it was while he was stretching his flabby legs by means of buying a doughnut from the bakery down the street when he ran into another befuddling mystery. Everywhere he turned, there were owls. In broad daylight, simply flying by and once in a while, showering a passerby with droppings. Vince had never seen an owl before, let alone twenty. Yet even if he was able to dismiss the numerous owls, there was still one other troubling change to Westinville, America. This was, of course, the sudden appearance of cloaked weirdos. What were they, these odd people who thought it was cool to wear stupid fashions that mad absolutely no sense in the modern age? It was 'cool' to wear, well, _normal _stuff. Not a Halloween costume! Vince knew his name choice for his son, Puddley, was rather odd, but really, which was worse, Puddley or wearing cloaks in public? Puddley Puddle was a much better name, in his opinion. While Vince Puddle was contemplating this, he bumped into a crowd of weirdos.

"'Scuse me," Vince muttered, as he weaved through the throng of upstarts.

"No never mind, never mind," one assured him, not even looking away from his companions' whisperings.

"I heard She-Who Must-Not-Be-Named, like, disappeared!"

"Yeah, something about Harry.."

"Molly Sauder, that's what I heard."

"That sounds right. Sauder. I used to know her parents, quite the couple, eh?"

"My friend always hated him, but.."

Vince, shocked, stumbled into the bakery, thinking frantically. 'Sauder. Sauder. Sauder. Damnit, why are people talking about my wife's unwelcome family? No, it's a common name, I must be wrong. But Molly…no, couldn't her name be Miranda, Millie, Mandy, and even if it was Molly, that's a common name too…'

Somehow, Vince knew that the weird crowds and his relatives were related. But his sluggish brain could not say exactly what. Thinking a large glazed doughnut might help his foul mood, Mr. Puddle ordered a giant coffee, two mega glazed doughnuts, and a scone for good measure. However, as he would later find out, eating doesn't help.

It was on his way to the parking lot where Mt. Puddle bumped into a tiny man, no bigger than four foot five.

"Sorry," growled Vince as he noticed the man sported one of the ridiculous capes.

"No, no, no! You muggles needn't be sorry for anything, nope, nothing at all! He is dead! Today is a day to rejoice, not say sorry! Have a marvelous day!" And the dwarf-like man hugged Vince around the middle.

'I have just been hugged by a complete stranger. This is not a good sign for USA's sanity. What is Westinville coming to? What is _America _coming to?!' Mr. Puddle was very confused.

It was a little past ten, and Mr. Puddle lay in bed. He had convinced himself that no harm could come to _him _about this relative business, the cat had simply seen something that was very interesting, and the men were collecting money for some cause or another. The owls he had heard about on the news were simply being catty.

How wrong Vince really was.

Pop!

With a jerk, the calico cat looked up. An elderly man with long silvery hair was putting out the street lamps. The cat showed no hint of surprise at such a thing, in fact, she seemed to be simply watching. At last, with a pop, the final lamp went out.

"Trusty Putter Outer," the elderly man said to himself, and the cat as well. Except the cat was no longer a cat. In it's place stood a stiff woman, with a long nose that spoke of little else than the fact that nothing got past her. "Professor McGonagall," the man said without looking up from his clasped hands.

"No other," the woman said dryly, looking very much like a professor.

"How did you know I was coming?" asked the elderly man, a little harsher.

"Hagrid isn't the best secret keeper, Professor Dumbledore."

"That I realize, madam, but trustworthy in other ways, you understand. Why are you here?" The man, Albus Dumbledore, finally looked up. His piercing ice-blue eyes and crooked nose were the most prominent features, but the half-moon spectacles surely gave a way the fact that he was not normal.

"Sir, I only wanted to know…Is it true?" Professor McGonagall looked searchingly into the older man's eyes, which gazed back intently. After a moment, he answered, "Yes. I fear it is."

"Oh! But Molly Sauder! And, oh dear, Laura and Timothy gone as well…Oh dear, this is terrible news."

"Yes, I agree," Albus mused. "Molly, the poor girl, is famous already. The good news, however.."

McGonagall was speechless. "You can't mean you believe her truly dead, can you?"

Albus Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Bellascelo may truly be gone. Lemon drop?"

"What on Earth…?"

Albus smiled. "They are a sweet I have become rather addicted to. Very sweet, citrus-ey, fantastic, really."

"This is hardly a matter for rejoicing. The wizarding world was practically revealed today!" The stiff woman crossed her arms and glared at the older man.

"You're loss. Now, once Laura gets here, would you mind lightening up a bit and rejoicing?"

"Laura…here? Why in Merlin's Beard would…You can't be serious." Professor McGonagall's eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets.

"Temper, temper. Laura cannot grow up in the wizarding world, she would be the most stuck-up child to ever attend Hogwarts! I can never do that to a perfectly normal child."

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. What I meant was who's bringing her?"

"Molly will be arriving soon with Hagrid," Dumbledore replied.

"Ah. But can we trust-" Professor McGonagall broke off as she heard a loud roaring sound, and with a crash, a huge black motorcycle fell from the sky. However, if the motorcycle was large, than it was nothing compared to the man sitting on it.

"Sirius lent me it," said the burly man, who must have been at least 10 feet tall.

"So I see," Albus Dumbledore answered. "And Molly…?"

"She fell asleep on the way. No trouble getting 'er out, nobody really had noticed yet tha it was-that they were-that Laura and-and Timothy and 'ery one are gone!" The giant, Hagrid, broke into gasping sobs, clutching at a pink flowered Kleenex that looked like it needed replacing.

"It's 'jus so terrible know'in that they're gone 'n all, 'n the'r poor little baby…"

Hagrid burst into tears again, this time being comforted by Professor McGonagall.

"There there, now, it's all right," she awkwardly soothed him.

With a sigh, all three gazed at the young girl, Molly. She would never know her parents. And she would literally have the scar for the rest of her life.

"You know she'd be happy here?" Hagrid inquired.

"Happy?" Dumbledore scoffed at this idea. "No, not happy. But she will be better off here, none the less."

"Positive?" Professor McGonagall remembered the way Vince Puddle had looked at her this morning. "They don't seem to be very welcome to change."

"Oh, I know," agreed Dumbledore. "They _are _her relatives, though."

"This is it, then." Hagrid's eyes began to let loose more torrents of tears as Dumbledore carried the baby to the Puddle's doorstep.

The three unwelcome visitors to Hedge Drive stood, uncertainly apart from the 'muggle world.'

"Well, that's that, then," whispered Professor Dumbledore, not making any move to leave. With a large amount of ceremonious-ness to it, he placed a scroll on top of the sleeping baby, Laura. As he did so, however, his hand brushed against Molly's soft baby skin, right on the curious cloud shaped scar. The small baby opened her pale green eyes to stare at this odd person, a new phenomenon, meaning a weird feeling on her forehead; the scar.

Molly would not remember this fateful day, nor would she ever remember her parents. Her new life had already begun.


End file.
